


Infected

by Marvelicious (Jayjaybe)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Transhumanism, Zombie Apocalypse, au-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:43:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1650701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayjaybe/pseuds/Marvelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An outbreak of an unknown supervirus sends the Avengers scrambling. It's down to Tony and Bruce to find a cure, but the the course of true love - and saving the world - never did run smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prequel

**Author's Note:**

> This one's been sitting on my hard drive forever, so I thought I'd cough up. Probably not even remotely cannon complacent since 'Avengers', since that was when the vast majority of it was written.

The lab is almost eerily quiet this early in the morning. It never technically closes – this is progress, people – but most of the regular employees have already left. The hallways are lit only by the ‘emergency’ lights that stay on all the time, giving the place an empty feeling despite the bright white light emanating from each of the labs along their lengths.

And, of course, it isn’t truly empty either. Third door from the right, hallway 25a, Virology; there’s a woman in a lab coat still fast at work beneath a fume hood. It grumbles its protests at being in use this late, louder than the whirring centrifuge or clatter of various refrigeration systems at work. It’s easily enough to mask the sound of footsteps should someone approach.

That’s one of the reasons why she prefers to work alone; no one looking over her shoulder or constantly keeping tabs on what she’s doing. That feeling of being watched makes her paranoid and nervous, and rarely inspires her best work. It’s much better when she can simply work in fascination of the viruses she cultivates, beautiful and deadly, with their own kind of grace in the efficiency of it. They fill the slots missing from human contact: children, lovers, friends, and enemies.

The particular menace she’s working with this evening is a lovely concoction. While the focus of her research is to prevent bioterrorism – determine what can be created in a lab, and come up with immunizations and treatments – a feeling of what could almost be considered regret accompanies the stoppering of the test tube she’s contained her virus in. It’s a plague that could potentially bring the world to its knees, but it’ll never have its chance to shine.

Nevertheless, she makes sure it’s sealed before removing it from beneath the fume hood and turning to place it back in its rack in the refrigerator. “Boo.” She startles, drops the glass tube with a loud plink as the intruder grins at her in an uncomfortably predatory way.

“No need to be frightened,” he continues, and while she doesn’t dare to make a move yet, her eyes are already seeking out the precious test tube. It’s skittered away from her, caught just beneath the corner of the refrigerator. If cracked, it’s already releasing its deadly toxins into the air, poisoning the whole room. It doesn’t appear to be, but she still needs to get to it before he does.

“How did you get in here?” She asks the intruder, voice coming out much steadier than she ever would have imagined possible under the circumstances. He’s wearing dark leathers, glinting with gold and green, unlike anything she’s ever seen on the street, let alone in the lab. She’d meant the question as a distraction, but it’s not a stretch to actual curiosity.

“I traveled long,” He begins, eyes flicking briefly to where her specimen lies before retreating back to hers, “Though all entrances generally involve a door of some sort or another.” The slight smirk of his lips is easy enough to read; he’s playing her. But playing or not, his eyes seem to be clouded with something akin to sentiment, and the momentary distraction is all the scientist decides she can hope for. She breaks from the bench at her back and darts for the test tube, knees crashing down hard on the tile before she catches the refrigerator with her knees, arms and face. But she grabs the tube, clutches it close to her chest, and that’s all that matters. It’s safe.

“How I came to be here however, is not nearly as satisfying a story as the ‘why’,” The man finishes dryly, like he’s ashamed of the spectacle she’s causing, and indeed, when she looks up at him with blood trickling from her nose and an already puffy lip beneath her surgical mask, he seems disappointed.

“Then _why_ are you here?” The woman pants, tightening her grip on the glass she holds. There’s a panic button on the side of the fume hood – that’s her next target if she can somehow make it back over there without this guy stopping her – it’ll put out a call to emergency services and lock down the entire building.

He takes a step forward, holding up both of his hands in a mockery of surrender so that the scientist can see them as he approaches. “We have more in common than you might think.” He offers, planting himself directly in front of her so that she’s trapped up against the refrigerator, just barely able to see the side of the fume hood from beneath his arm. “I fancied a chat.” The woman flinches by pure reflex when he extends his arm towards her, shutting her eyes tight in preparation for the blow. 

It never comes.

Slowly, carefully, she eases apart her eyelids to peer up at him, but the stranger is simply holding out his hand, waiting for something from her with a patronizing grin that’s already becoming familiar. She glares right back. “I’m not giving it to you,” She snaps, edging slightly sideways so that her body subtly blocks the door of the unit behind her. These viruses are her life’s work – her most prized treasures – if it comes to a fight she doesn’t know how effective she could ever be, but she knows she won’t let this wannabe terrorist touch any of them. “Not over my dead body.”

“If it comes to that.” The smirk is back, “but I’ll confess it wasn’t my first plan. Now will you get up off the floor? As much as I appreciate the groveling…” She glares at him and ignores his outstretched hand, instead struggling to her feet using the refrigeration unit at her back. He’s uncomfortably close, and she can only use the one hand, but her highest priority is protecting the specimen in her left fist.

Standing, he’s a few inches taller than her, looming over her in a way that’s decidedly predatory, but he lets his hand drop without comment. “I know how instrumental a mother can be in her children’s lives, and I am not so cruel as to rip them from her cooling grasp. Besides, did I not specify earlier that my interest lay with you?”

“What do you want with me then?” She asks. He’s blocking her off from the rest of the room, caging her in with his body. It’s an intimidation tactic, and she’s determined not to let it get to her despite the way her heart’s been racing since his intrusion. “I trust you know my work.”

“But of course. I know the way you slave over this technology for hours on end, working tirelessly to create things that will never see the light of day.” His tone had grown fierce, eyes sparkling with their intensity, “Humanity should be falling over themselves to thank you; after all, you save them from the monsters they’ve made. But where are they? Home in their beds while some company comes to rip another child from your fingers.”

She doesn’t see it coming. The scientist barely feels the slip of glass between her fingers, and then the man is holding her test tube aloft to punctuate his sudden tirade. A surprised gasp falls from her lips – she hadn’t even seen him move, let alone reach for her hand, but it’s impossible to mistake the specimen he’s examining just out of her reach. “Give that back!”

“I’ve been a mother,” He continues, deliberately ignoring her. “Birthed brilliant monsters. Taken away of course, for the common good, but don’t you ever wonder?” And she shouldn’t be listening to this – it’s clear he’s crazy – but the immediate reality of her stolen virus lends each word from his lips that much more gravitas. “Don’t you wonder what they could do, if given their chance?”

“Please, I don’t know what your problem is, but,” The scientist whispers in a voice that just barely makes it to her own ears. Something’s dissuading her from protesting further, her throat dry and seeming to close up under its own influence.

“You do.” He answers for her, voice dropping to a frightening growl. “Late at night you lay awake and dream of revenge. You yearn for it. It’s dark and consuming, eating you up inside, but you want it so bad you can taste it.” His eyes are flashing again. He’s leaning in even closer, and the scientist’s heart is beating a million miles an hour. It’s true. It’s all true. “All those people who’ve wronged you – all of humanity at your feet – you have the power. _Seize it._ ”

She snatches the test tube back from his clammy fingers with an audible whimper. Everything has been made clear to her, a fog lifted from her brain that she’d never even known was there. She knows what she has to do.

“Thank you.” She whispers, and breaks the seal.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony takes a deep breath and downs the rest of his drink, too weary to hold up the glass. There’s a bit of a spin to his surroundings now – he lets his arms slide out from underneath him until his head’s on the bar, the feel of cool wood pressed up against his cheek a small mercy. Bruce is in the hospital. Everyone will tell him he shouldn’t, but Tony feels responsible.

He was the one who helped Bruce to develop it. Therefore, it’s at least partially his fault that Bruce’s cure resulted in failure – more so if he factored in that it was his lab they’d come up with the shit in. Since he’d also ordered the materials, and they had split the actual work about even… It’s practically his fault.

As the largest guilty party, Tony should have probably been at the hospital visiting Bruce’s bedside, but he’s here instead. Back at the tower, trying to drink away the sight of Bruce seizing on the little cot he’s since ordered JARVIS to destroy. The familiar taste of guilt coats his teeth. He can’t face Bruce right now – probably not ever.

“Sir,” The system entreats him.

“Not now JARVIS.” _Leave me alone._ Is it too much to ask to be left in peace for a few hours to drink himself into a stupor?

“You have a visitor,” It continues. Apparently that is too much to ask.

“So tell them to come back another time. I’m busy.” He’s not in the mood to deal with anyone at the moment. Not by a long shot.

“Busy giving yourself cirrhosis maybe,” A familiar voice pipes up over the sound of the door swishing open, and Tony doesn’t even have to look up to picture Steve looking disapprovingly down at him. “Bruce is asking for you, you know.”

“Ahh, so there was a reason I’ve been ignoring my phone all morning.” He can’t help but pipe up, determined to be contrary if Steve's just here to tell him what to do.

A hand on his shoulder is all the warning Tony gets before he's hauled off of the comfortable wood-topped bar and forcibly turned to look at a swirling mass of red, white and blue. “You put him in the hospital, Tony – the least you could do is go see him. The rest of us have all been standing by in case of a hulk-out since he was admitted. You’ve had time to mope; now it’s time to be a responsible adult.”

“What part of ‘Tony Stark’ sounds like ‘responsible adult’ to you Steve? I’m not going there.” _Don’t make me go there. I can’t face him._

“And why not? Getting drunk on a Tuesday afternoon is more important than making sure your teammate is okay? You have a funny way of showing you care.”

He shoves a finger against the spangly mess of color beside him – was aiming for Steve's chest, but it's probably closer to his belly button – who gives a fuck. “Don't. Say that.” He cares. Tony is well aware that he cares too much, in fact. Bruce was aware of the risks when they started... but it still doesn't make anything better. All he can see behind his eyelids is the disappointment in Bruce's eyes knowing that it didn't work - and the terror of thinking he might have lost Bruce for good, well, Tony still feels like he's shaking.

Steve sighs heavily and puts his other hand on Tony's arm. It feels a lot more comforting than the fingers clenched around his shoulder, even if that's probably the only thing keeping him upright at this point. “Come on, let's get you to bed. I can't take you out in public like this anyway.”

“The press loves it when I'm drunk and belligerent.” Tony slurs, and he sounds pathetic even to his own ears.

“I'll bet. Hospital staff, not so much.” He's surprised Steve isn't arguing with him, and that's apparently all the distraction Steve needs to hoist him the rest of the way up from the bar. The world spins and tips alarmingly. 

Tony clings to him for balance. “Oh Captain, my Captain.” He tries to joke, swallowing hard to fight back the sudden nausea. Steve laughs at least. That's got to be worth something.


End file.
